


The Great Avenger Bake Off

by uglywombat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky is a sore loser, F/M, Fluff, Mild Language, One Shot, Post-Endgame, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 19:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18998947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/pseuds/uglywombat
Summary: Bucky is the reigning champion of the Great Avenger Bake Off. Baking has been his therapy following Endgame and he has finally found something he is good at that does not involve blood on his hands. Except that one time whilst zesting limes.He’s out for blood this coming Bake Off, no one can stop him. Until he finds out his best friend Sam Wilson has been cheating off him with your baking.Bucky doesn’t play fair. Bucky is in it to win it. But now he's got some competition.





	The Great Avenger Bake Off

Colonel James Rupert Rhodes was a fair and level-headed leader. I mean, after Tony Stark, anyone would have been less chaotic. After Thanos, Rhodey had graciously taken over the reins as captain of the Avengers and had led his team through their grief, mourning, anger and acceptance.

 

Now, Tony’s style of management had been somewhat unorthodox. Booze, partying and an excessive budget had played the major part, if not only part, in his team-bonding proceedings. It’s not like he didn’t had a multi-million dollar HR department to assist with these things. Tony liked to do things in his own way.

 

Behind the scenes, past the capes, guns, bombs and super heroes, The Avengers ran like a corporation following the failed Accords ratification. Before the reign of the tyrant Thanos, Tony had been mandated to clean up his business and the way he ran it. Which he did, through Pepper.

 

His Avengers family; superheroes, managers, accountants, cleaners and the alike were devastated following his death. But there was hope in the Rhodey and the future looked a little less dim.

 

Rhodey’s approach to team building and KPRs had been surprising to everyone in the Avenger’s compound. There had been the expectation of war games, Spartan races and so on. But no, he could be creative too.

 

And so, the Great Avenger Bake Off was born. The first year the entrances were a little lack-lustre, and the baking was edible, however Rhodey forged on. He knew he could bank on the competitive environment at the Avengers. As the years went on, the competition grew bigger and the baking became more elaborate and intricate.

 

Bucky Barnes grew up in a time where luxuries and treats were a painful dream. Christmas gifts shared with Steve were the poor man’s choice of an orange, some sugar and colouring pencils. But those were in the days between and during wars. These modern times were very different.

 

He could want for nothing. He could eat whatever he wanted whenever he wanted with a simple command. He had access to millions of dollars worth of state of the art weaponry. And yet the thing he yearned for the most was his best friend.

 

Whilst he put on a brave face Bucky was a broken man after Steve didn’t return from his time jump. Privately, Bucky mourned. He locked himself up in his new apartment at the Avenger’s headquarters and begged God to return Steve to him as he had been. Nobody understood Bucky like Steve.

 

It was during this time that Bucky discovered on demand television. Netflix. Hulu. The Food Network. He binge watched crime shows, horror movies, Disney movies. But then he discovered cooking shows.

 

At first he found them grating. Why watch someone cook something for hours when it just makes you that odd mix of hungry and angry. The kids’ called it hangry, or something along those lines. And why does Giada have to smile like that? No one, and he means no one, is ever that happy.

 

First he tried _The Barefoot Contessa_. She was delightful and her food looked delicious. Then he discovered _Ottoloenghi_ and his delicious spiced recipes. He vehemently did not like Bobby Flay or Gordon Ramsey with their egos and aggressive nature.

 

As he slowly cycled through his grief, Bucky found the courage to come out of his room and enjoy human company in the common room. He enjoyed a particularly rousing afternoon ofbinge watching the first two seasons of _Nailed It_ and Sam Wilson would happily watch _Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives_ with him.

 

And then he discovered _The Great British Bake Off_ and his world changed. Apparently the British were still charming.

  

“I can do better,” he told Clint who only happily waged a bet on it.

  

So armed with a Stark Industries/Avenger’s credit card, Bucky took himself to the closest Barnes and Noble. The cashier raised an eyebrow as he purchased twenty books on baking. _Tartine. The Cake Bible. Bread: A Baker’s Book of Techniques and Recipes_. If Bucky was anything, he was committed.

 

Bucky was defeated as his first bake failed. Perhaps the lemon tart was a little ambitious, but Bucky was determined to aim high. He wanted to make Steve proud. So, he brushed off the flour from the bench and tried again.

 

As the months wore on, his friends accepted their fate and expanding waistlines as taste testers. Bucky improved of course, he was ruthless. He began to bake daily. Bread. Cakes. Muffins. Crepes. Croissants. Danish. Pies.

 

Bucky was accomplishing what he had strived to do and he was proud. So, when he read the email about the first _Great Avenger Bake Off_ he was a man determined. He lost to Betty in marketing with her sourdough donuts filled with lemon crème, but his cinnamon apple pie had come a healthy second. Still, the next year he was determined to win.

  

Bucky practiced his bake for weeks before the competition. Clint begged him to stop feeding him lemon macarons. Bucky won, but only just. Betty was an excellent baker and a slight mishap with the temperature of her oven had been her downfall.

 

The next year Bucky came to the realisation that whilst his baking was exceptional, he needed to play dirty to win. Because Bucky does not lose. Bucky’s croquembouche nearly met a fatal end when he nearly tripped presenting his dish to his esteemed judges. However, Betty’s Devil’s Food Cake did not eat well. Some cried foul play, but no one would ever be able to prove that Bucky had switched Betty’s sugar for salt. 

 

Come the fourth year Betty had finally retired from the marketing department. Bucky knew he was a sure win. Until the day he found Sam Wilson almost orgasming as he walked down the hallway, his mouth stuffed full. Whatever it was, it smelt fucking delicious.

 

When asked where he had procured the peppermint slice, Sam could only respond that he had found a container in the staff room on the fifth floor. Bucky discovered that the financing team resided on the fifth floor with the I.T. and marketing departments.

 

Fearing that Betty had been raised from the dead (clearly Bucky was going through his _The Walking Dead_ phase), Bucky stormed up to the fifth floor staff room to find one tiny piece of peppermint slice left. It was good. It was really good. His mind fumed as he stormed through the hallway, his mouth savouring the tasty slice.

 

Bucky learnt a second lesson that day. People still feared him. He stormed through the offices, demanding to know who had baked the slice, but he had scared them silent. Frustrated, he made his way down to the gym and took his aggression out on a punching bag. The punching bag didn’t make it.

  

The mystery baker struck again the following week with spelt flour brownies. Bucky hated to admit it but they were better than his. Two days later he stole the entire Tupperware container holding the most succulent blondies he had ever eaten. He felt sick after but it was worth it.

  

Bucky came to conclusion that his new opponent had to be destroyed. But he couldn’t do it alone.

 

First he tried Sam. “I don’t who bakes,” his friend says, his mouth full of blueberry muffin, “I heard a rumour that someone was baking and I just sneak up there and help myself.”

 

Then he tried F.R.I.D.A.Y. “I’m afraid Sergeant Barnes that I cannot share the security footage of the corporation departments as it would be an invasion of their privacy. Unless of course there is a threat, then I am to report directly to Director Rhodes.”

 

So Bucky tried staking out the staff room, but this only resulted in numerous complaints from staff about the threat sitting outside their break room. No treats made it into the staffroom for a week.

  

From then on, the baked treats became sporadic and Bucky became a man obsessed. And then as suddenly as it stopped, the delicious tray had made its way into the Avenger’s private kitchen. Just for them. Well, they were intended for all until Bucky ate them all.

 

He then enlisted the help of Natasha, who for the sake of their friends was more than willing to put Bucky out of his misery.

 

He jumps as the file is dumped on his now empty breakfast plate, Natasha giving up your name. “Junior accountant. Room 526.”

  

Bucky smirks and sips his coffee, looking over the dossier Nat had collated on you. Luck is on his side today as he sits down to the mission meeting to see a Tupperware container filled with individual lemon and basil tarts. He takes a bite and moans licentiously, eyes drawn to him.

 

It doesn’t bother him that people are staring at him. What bothers him is the shy smirk on your face. Because you’re so much prettier in person and he should hate you.

  

But Bucky is petulant. “They’re okay.” The guilt eats at him throughout the meeting. His words obviously hurt you. But, Bucky had to hate you because Bucky does not lose.

  

The ire grows as he watches Sam escort you from the room, showering you with praise. “Those early grey macarons were the bomb. Like seriously. Oh and that banana bread. It rivals my moms, but don’t tell her that.”

  

What pokes his anger the most is the sweet, soft smile that creeps on your face at his compliments like it embarrasses you. But why would it? Bucky would never be embarrassed about receiving compliments like that.

 

So Bucky takes his anger out on a boozy margarita cake, helping himself to the tequila and Cointreau, although it does little to affect him. Clint helps him start and finish the cake as they bond over _Eat, Pray, Love_.

  

It was the perfectly decorated pineapple fiesta cake that broke the proverbial straw on the camel’s back. Firstly, why would Wanda want a pineapple cake for her birthday? And secondly, how the hell is your piping so good?

 

  
It puts Bucky in a rage for days. He has to replace four doors and the Italian marble kitchen top in the communal kitchen.

  

“You’re jealous,” Sam tells him one night over tacos and beers. “You’ve been outdone.” Sam is wrong though. Sabotage is never beneath Bucky Barnes. “Bucky, do not sabotage her. I like her and her baking.”

  

Monday finds you tied to your desk; a migraine brewing and the coffee falling short of its civic duty to keep keep you human. You’ve been with the Avenger’s for about a year and you are still working on the mess the previous junior accountant had made of the previous three years of Cost-Volume-Profit analysis notes.

 

The slam of your door opening grates on your migraine and you look up to see a murderous Bucky standing in your door way. Now, Bucky’s face is usually quite murderous, he’s dealing with a lot of stuff obviously… but this vitriol is on another level.

  

“You are a piece of work, baker,” he snarls stalking towards your desk.

  

Whilst your heart is beating so hard against your chest it hurts, you’d be lying to say it didn’t turn you on. Like, really turn you on.

 

“I have a name you know,” you snap back, hand indicating to the name plaque on your neat desk, sitting next to your cactus. You don’t understand why Bucky has a problem with you. You’ve barely said a word to the guy.

 

“The baking thing is mine. You’ve had your fun now you need to close your kitchen.”

  

You shoot him a confused look. “Look Sergeant, I don’t know what I’ve done that’s got you this riled up but now is really not a good time.”

 

“I’m the baker at the Avengers.”

  

God, he is so petulant and so damn hot. His honey skin is practically radiating molten lava as his blue eyes hit you with arrows. Fuck he is hot.

  

“Sergeant, I didn’t know you baked. I was just trying to make friends with people on my floor.”

  

“But are you entering the bake off, yes?”

  

You huff and rub your temples. “Yes, I’ve put my name down.”

 

You shrink into your chair as he stiffens. “Well then baker. This means war,” and storms out of your office, but not before stealing a brownie from the container on your desk.

 

You find Sam in the gym, getting his usual run in on the treadmill, intently watching the pouring rain outside. The pure sounds of Earth, Wind and Fire fills the empty gym.

  

“Why does Bucky Barnes hate me?” you ask as Sam slows his pace.

 

Sam laughs incredulously and instructs F.R.I.D.A.Y. to reduce the volume. “Bucky doesn’t hate you. He’s threatened by you. He had little to challenge him after Thanos, so he became obsessed with baking. Literally obsessed. I’ve considered an intervention but it would be a waste of time.” You don’t want to pity Bucky, because he deserves better, but your heart sure does tug. “The bake off brought out a nasty competitive side of him. He really wants to win.”

  

“Is he going to kill me?”

  

Sam laughs, nearly throwing himself off the treadmill, but quickly rights himself. “No, but he’s going to make your life a living hell.”

 

He doesn’t have any advice to offer you other than don’t enter the bake off, but you’d worked so hard practicing your bake. You also don’t back down to bullies. And quite frankly, you thought Bucky was being a bit of a bully. You’d heard the rumours about Betty from marketing. Your teammates had warned you about entering but you just laughed it off.

 

Well, perhaps Bucky needed to learn a lesson in playing fair. So, with your shoulders held high you returned to your apartment that night with fresh lemons from your neighbourhood garden and fresh thyme. It was time to practice.

 

You weren’t aware that Bucky was watching your apartment from the abandoned warehouse adjacent to your building.

 

He had burrowed his forehead when he drove through your neighbourhood. It was not the best side of town. Surely you were earning a better wage than this. Your apartment looked warm and inviting though. He images it would smell like your bergamont and green tea candles, sugar, apples and cinnamon. But that would be a little specific and creepy.

 

He watches you leave your bedroom and come into the kitchen. You take his breath away. Your old black leggings, oversized man’s shirt that had obviously belonged to an ex-boyfriend and the sweet scarf on your head keeping your hair out of your eyes. Fuck, he just wants to come home to you and cuddle with you on the couch whilst eating macarons and watching _Chopped_.

 

“Focus Barnes, you’re on a mission.”

 

He watches you manipulate the cold butter into the flour and sugar with the melon coloured Kitchen Aid. He images your fingers manipulating the knots in his shoulders, whilst your lips descend down…

 

“Fuck Barnes!”

 

And then you’re bending over and placing your bake into the oven. Your perfect, grabbing-worthy ass. He images his hands gripping you as he pounds you into the wall…

 

“Gah!” he throws his binoculars across the room. “What is wrong with you? You’re an assassin. You’re a soldier. Not a teenage boy. Get a hold of yourself.”

 

“You are losing it, man.” He jumps as Clint steps out of the shadows.

 

“You’re a dick.”

 

“Correction, I am the biggest dick. A very talented, biggest dick,” Clint chuckles sitting beside his friend. “So, what’s our talented baker making tonight?”

 

“It looks like a thyme shortbread. But she’s got a huge pile of lemons and eggs and she’s not used them yet,” Bucky says as Clint joins him in observing you.

 

“Stop it, you’re making me hungry. Want me to order pizza?”

 

“Sure Clint. Have someone deliver pizza to the abandoned warehouse,” Bucky says petulantly with a roll of his eyes, only to look over and see Clint ordering a New York style pepperoni and mushroom.

 

Your blind bake is complete by the time they are biting into their first piece of pizza.

 

“Lemon bars?” Bucky scoffs, watching you pour the lemon mixture over the shortbread. “Amateur.” That was until you pulled the candied lemons out of the fridge. His eyes widen, the slice of pizza drooping slightly.

 

“They look pretty good,” Clint teased with a mouthful of pizza. “How are your sugar skills, Buckaroo?” He ducks, just missing the boot thrown at his head.

 

They watch you watch TV while your bars cool on the countertop. They’re perfect. Not a single crack. You truly had some skills.

 

“She’s pretty,” Clint muses as you run lip balm over your lips.

 

“Like sunshine.”

 

Clint whips his head to Bucky. “Dude, you’ve got it bad.” This time he only just ducks in time to miss the blade hurled at his head.

 

Bucky stays in the warehouse that night, watching you finish your bake, including meticulously piping what looks like marshmallow meringue and carefully browning it with the blow torch. The slices look delicious and professionally made. He seethes with jealousy, but he has seen enough.

 

Back at the compound he spends an agonising four hours re-strategizing his bake for the bake off. He researches the ingredients and baking instructions for your bake. He plans his sabotage schedule, despite the strange gnawing guilt in his stomach. And he plans his chocolate celebration cake.

 

Because Bucky Barnes does not lose.

 

Your week was going from bad to worst. Rhodey was on your case about the CVP analysis and you’re making no progress. It’s absolutely frustrating. You’re a good worker. You work hard. But the mess the junior accountant had left is way above your head.

 

And then, you had accidently used granulated sugar instead of the fine sugar in your lemon bar so it was sickly sweet and gave you a headache. Your brand new eggs were completely rotten, ruining your bake entirely.

 

Your practice bake had gone particularly badly last night. Whilst your lemon bar was baking in the oven and you were showering your oven had somehow malfunctioned and wasn’t even working anymore. The electrician had estimated it would cost more than the oven was worth to repair and you didn’t have the cash to just go out and buy a new oven.

 

You were starting to wonder if you would even be able to enter the competition.

 

And now, you were in a mission meeting, stuck beside Bucky, and Rhodey was berating you in front of the whole team about your lack of progress. It wasn’t good enough. There wasn’t enough detail. You were stuck. The intel you had been given was ridiculous and you had done the best you could.

 

You force back the tears as Rhodey moves on to his next victim, a stray drop escaping down your cheek. You feel Sam’s firm hand rub your back gently, Bucky’s eyes cast down on you.

 

You couldn’t get out of that meeting fast enough. You need fresh air and a stiff drink, but the fresh air would have to make do. The sun is high in the sky as you make your way to the lake. It was beautiful. It was a crime to be stuck inside stewing over your emotions and under Bucky’s intense eyes.

 

“Are you okay?” You turn to see Sam approach you. You shrug and turn back to the lake after he hands you a cup of coffee. Sam listens intently as you tell him about the intel and how your oven had broken down. “Rhodey’s just feeling the pressure, don’t mind him. And you can use our oven to practice, as long as I get to try.”

 

So, later that night you find yourself alone in the Avenger’s private kitchen practicing your piping skills. Despite everyone’s protests, you felt it was your weakest point in your bake, but you knew that if you practiced enough you could nail it.

 

Your heart stops as Bucky enters the kitchen and halts immediately at seeing you.

 

“Problems with your oven?” he asks going to the fridge and grabbing himself a beer. He offers you one and you happily accept as you mull over his question.

 

Surely Sam had mentioned it. Unless… “Wait, did you do something to my oven?” The smirk matches the glint in his eye. Evil. “So the rumours are true. You’re a cheat?”

 

“There is no cheating in war.”

 

“War is a two way street, Bucky, and I’m not at war with you. You don’t have to sabotage my bake just to win,” you snap throwing down your piping bag. “You’re an asshole. You broke my oven, which by the way I can’t afford to replace or repair, and now I have nothing to cook with.”

 

Bucky is stunned as the guilt washes over him, but you’re not done.

 

“You know what, Buck, fuck you.” You go to storm out of the kitchen, slinging your bag over your shoulder, the anger burning deep inside.

 

“Wait!” Bucky grabs your forearm and pulls you flush against his body. “I’m sorry.” His voice is faint and rich and drives you crazy. “I will buy you a new oven.”

 

“No…”

 

“Yes.” His thumb caresses your cheek as your eyes meet. “I’m an asshole.” You chuckle and don’t disagree. “You’re so pretty when you smile.”

 

Your hands rest against his arms as his lips meet yours; the kiss is sweet and innocent. His kips are surprisingly soft and warm against yours. You lose yourself in his kiss, your bag dropping to the ground as his hands rest on your waist.

 

The breath is ripped from you as your back connects with the wall; Bucky’s kiss becoming more dominating and heated. Your lips quiver as he pulls away and looks into your eyes, a silent question.

 

“Fuck me Bucky,” you say huskily, his grin growing wide as he throws you over his shoulder, both your giggles echoing off the walls of the hallway, your bag long forgotten in the kitchen.

 

He unceremoniously kicks the door shut behind him and throws you onto the bed. His eyes are blown dark with lust as he observes the way your breasts push against your singlet, your breathing heavy.

 

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks you, crawling over your body.

 

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since you stormed into my office like an asshole,” you chuckle, your hand caressing his cheek.

 

It’s the only consent he needs. His hands tear your singlet open, his mouth finding your nipple and taking it between his teeth. His hands work your clothes off before his finger delves between your moist folds.

 

“Oh doll, did I make you all wet like this?” He chuckles at your sob as his finger plunges into your sopping pussy. Before you can beg for more his lips encase your clit and he furiously licks you until you are plummeting over the precipice. His metal arm pins your hips to the bed as your body is overcome with the orgasm.  “That was beautiful. You are so beautiful,” he says and tenderly kisses you.

 

You can’t hold back the surprise squeal that falls from your lips as he pulls you up onto his lap, his back resting against the bedhead.

 

“Ride me.” His salacious tone sends a shiver down your spine and you can’t help but comply.

 

Your hands grip his shoulders as you lower yourself onto his hard, thick cock and grind against his pelvis. The gasp from his perfect, soft lips is heaven. His metal hand rests gently on your hips as he encourages you to rise and fall on his cock slowly, his flesh hand grasping your breasts.

 

You lose control of the filthy words coming out of your mouth as he bucks up into you, his cock pushing against your g-spot. His grin only encourages you to ride him faster before he drags his tongue along your neck.

 

Bucky’s fingers find your clit and manically pushes you into another heart wrenching orgasm before crushing you against his chest and fucking you hard. His cries mingle with yours as he roars through his orgasm, cumming deep inside you.

 

You’re amazed at the tenderness Bucky shows you, holding you close as you shower together, taking his time kissing and exploring you. He insists you spend the night, his arms protectively holding you through the night.

 

You’re woken to Bucky’s mouth on your pussy, his tongue buried deep inside you as he makes you come twice. You return the favour, taking his cock in your mouth and letting him fuck you against the desk before breakfast.

 

He brings you pancakes in bed, the world outside consigned to oblivion as you enjoy each other.

 

Bucky is funny. His dry sense of humour has you in stitches. And he’s smart. Smarter than people give him credit. You’re smitten.

 

“Are you going to sabotage me at the bake off tomorrow?” you ask wryly as his fingers trace invisible patterns on your collarbone, your hands combing his soft dark hair.

 

“Nah, but you might want to double check your sugar.”

 

Bucky doesn’t win bake off that year. His chocolate celebration was a hit, but he was happy to sit back and watch you bask in your win. Your feet in his lap as you feed each other hotdogs and cake.

 

Steve would have been proud.


End file.
